


The Private Diary Of Dr. James Wilson

by BeePls (nerdybumblebee)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gay Character, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, bi character, diart format, first person POV, hilson, hilson endgame, idk if it’ll be graphic yet but yeah i’ll probably talk about sex in this at some point, james wilson is gay and his previous relationships with women do not invalidate that, rated m because that shit is traumatizing lmao, secondary character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdybumblebee/pseuds/BeePls
Summary: Wilson’s diary entries, chronicling his journey through internalized homophobia and coming to terms with those feelings.ON INDEFINITE HIATUS





	1. ENTRY ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I’ve been binging House MD for the first time, and I’ve picked up on a lot of little things from Wilson’s character that register in my eyes as internalized homophobia. As a lesbian, this resonated very deeply with me, and I thought it would be therapeutic to write this as mostly a vent fic as well as a fun characterization exercise since I’m trying to get back into writing. It starts immediately after S3E7, Son Of Coma Guy. Entries aren’t dated, because I don’t have the energy to go back and pull dates. But they are in chronological order, so it doesn’t really matter. Enjoy! And happy Pride Month!

One day, the CIA will give me a license to kill. I will see my target, and I will take aim, and I will finally give the world some refuge from Greg House.

And if I am ever roped into another police investigation, or if the actual CIA finds this, this is a joke. I couldn’t even go hunting with my dad when I was 12. There’s no way I could shoot a person. Then again... some might argue that House isn’t even a person to begin with.

Regardless, I am not homicidal. I’m just frustrated. I have spent years on this path. House fucks up. And then, because I am his friend, I try to help. I get roped into the mess. Then, somehow, I end with most the blame. And I don’t know why, but I cannot break this cycle. It should be the easiest thing in the world. I should just be able to say no and move on, but I cannot say no to him. If he was a girlfriend, I’d be whipped. Maybe I still am.

It’s especially heinous when it affects my work. He bursts into the OR while I have someone’s kidney in my hand. He withholds test results and hides them until I’m roped into his idiocy. He wastes my time with prank phone calls. And yet? I respond in full. I move everything on his desk over an inch. I loosen his cane tip. I donate to charities in his name and wait for him to get the emailed thank you. I hate his stupid games, but I can’t stop myself from playing. He is a menace. He is a plague. But still, he is my best friend.


	2. ENTRY TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with this shit gave me so many stupid ass nightmares when I was younger lmao. Thought maybe others might relate.

I have this reoccurring nightmare. I’m in this white room, and it’s endless. It’s not even really a room; it’s just this wide empty space. Like some kind of void. 

In the dream, I’m moving through. Walking, mostly. Sometimes running. Always looking for a way out. But I always run into someone I know. Cuddy, Mom, an ex... it changes. But they always look so angry. So disgusted. Suddenly, more people show up. The void is filled with everyone I have ever met, and they’re all surrounding me. And they’re all so fucking furious that the anger is genuinely suffocating me. 

House is always there. He’s always the closest to me. My lungs feel compressed, and he just stares at me. Into me, actually. He looks so absolutely hateful. And he just says “I hate you.” Everyone else says it afterwards. It’s like an echo and it gets so loud, and I can’t drown it out. 

But believe it or not, it was easier when I was crashing with him. There were a good few times I’d wake up to him shaking my shoulder and asking me if I was okay. That was a lot better than waking up alone. It’s 5:16 am now, and I’m by myself in this stupid fucking hotel room. And I can’t stop shaking.

I hate that dream. I’ve been having it since middle school. Before House, it was friend from history class. Then my rabbi’s son. Then in college, it was my roommate’s teammate. But ever since that damn conference in New Orleans, it’s been House. I don’t know what that means, but I just don’t want to lose my best friend. Especially over something as ridiculous as a nightmare.


End file.
